completely away from the house she could get hold of herself.
In spite of the high heels, she was walking faster and faster. We left the bright sunlight of the clearing and then suddenly she jerked away from me and started running down the path through the trees. Both the boats were drawn up at the float, one on each side, and she stopped at the end of the trail and stared at them wildly. I caught her arm again and then for the first time she noticed me.
“Let’s go, Jack,” she cried out frantically. “Start the boat!”
I swung her around and caught hold of both arms.
They were shaking as if she had a chill. The touch of lipstick she had put on her mouth, hardly noticeable a while ago when I had held her in exactly this way to look at her, was now a violent slash of carmine across the dead pallor of her face, and her eyes were staring with shock. I wanted to take her in my arms and just hold her until it wore off, but there wasn’t time for that any more. I shook her almost roughly, and then when she screamed I let go of her arm with the right hand and slapped her, hard. It was like kicking a puppy.
The scream cut off and she put a hand up to her mouth, backing away from me. “Doris!” I said. “Listen! You’ve got to listen to me. Are you all right now?” Then I thought of that old football question. “Listen, what day is this?”
She stared at me as if I’d gone crazy. Maybe I have, I thought.
“Doris, do you know what day this is?” I asked again. She moved the hand from her mouth around to her cheek where I’d slapped her, still looking at me. She was beautiful and she was hurt, and more than anything in the world I wanted to reach out for her and just pick her up and take her away from here, but I had to keep my head. It was losing it that got us into this mess in the first place.
I took out a cigarette and lit it and handed it to her. She accepted it mechanically. I led her over and made her sit down with her back against a stump while I squatted in front of her, taking her chin in the palm of my hand so she’d have to look at me.
“It’s Tuesday,” she said suddenly. I had already forgotten about it.
All right, now,” I said. “I think now you know why I asked that, and why I slapped you. We’re in a jam, and if we run without using our heads we’re going to be in a worse one. I’m trying to think, and I want you to help me. Can you answer some questions for me?”
The wild stare of the shock had gone out of her eyes now. She was rational, but I hated to look at the misery in them.
“Yes,” she said dully. “But what difference does it make now, Jack? Everything is ruined.”
“No,” I said, almost roughly. “It’s not. Just keep thinking that it’s not, and after a while you’ll see it. It wasn’t your fault; there was no way on earth you could have prevented it. If anyone is to blame, I am, for losing my head and getting panicky when I saw he was after you, and even that was an accident. Neither of us wanted to do it.” I stopped for a moment, and then went on, talking faster. “And in the end it won’t make any difference. He’s better off now than he was living the way he did. Nothing matters now except us. Nothing matters with me except you, because I love you, and I want to find a way out of this so we can always be together. Now, will you listen and try to help me?”
She had forgotten the cigarette and let it roll from her fingers. I picked it up and took a puff on it, fighting to steady my nerves and to think. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“I’ll try, Jack.”
“All right. Good. Now, tell me, and I want you to think hard. Do you have any idea at all what he was running from?”
She stared at me, puzzled, then shook her head. “No. He never did talk about it.”
“And you never did ask him?”
“Only once. And after the way he looked, I never did again.”